The valley had turned into a forge.
Buzz stood in the center, sweat slicking the cracks between his shell plates. The air smelled of heat and metal. Around him, the coalition trained—Scarabs pounding their claws into the dirt in rhythm, Centipedes wrapping their coils into shields, Glowbeetles darting through the air in patterns of light that burned lines into the canopy.
Every strike shook the ground. Every move had purpose.
Zza barked orders from the ridge, her silk whistling through the air. "Keep your rhythm clean! If you break formation, you break the net!"
The Scarabs adjusted, moving tighter. The Elder watched from the edge, threads spread wide, connecting every faction in a web of signal and command. For the first time, the coalition moved like one creature.
Buzz turned his head toward the Glowbeetles overhead. Their flight had grown sharper. Coordinated. Beautiful. "They're learning," he murmured.
Zza smirked from beside him. "So are you."
